


A Bit of News

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of dubious consent, let's talk about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: While Thomas was away working for Sir Mark and Lady Stiles, Phyllis came for tea one afternoon. Turns out they had a very important conversation that day... with all the awkwardness that two Edwardian English servants could muster.





	1. Chapter 1

**20 October, 1925**

The letter made him smile. He had been doing a bit more of that lately—smiling. It was a funny thing. He let his mind wander a small pace, to a time fairly recently, when a letter from Daisy, spoiling the surprise of cake to be had that afternoon, would not have made him so happy. But only a pace. He pushed his mostly finished breakfast aside and rose from his chair, to gather paper and a pen, and began to dash off a response to his friend back at Downton.

***

Phyllis arrived just after three. She knocked exactly twice before he threw open the back door, to reveal her standing there with her fist still in the air. He nearly scooped her into his arms and squeezed the life out of her, so grateful was he to see her face. But that would have crushed the cake. And he was a proper Englishman, after all.

Instead he smiled, again—stifled a laugh, more like. And leaned down and very softly kissed her offered cheek. “Won’t you come in?” he asked.

And then she was there with him, sitting in his small servants’ hall, watching him pour the tea, and telling him how well he looked. He blushed, and let her praise him, then sat down and took a sip. She hadn’t touched hers yet; he lowered his cup into its saucer, and meant to say, “Don’t let your tea get cold,” but when his eyes met hers, instead he said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She reached out and patted his hand. “Me too,” she said softly. “Me too.”

He pretended not to notice as she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. He brought up the weather instead, again the proper Englishman. Once she’d gathered herself, and they’d exchanged a few pleasantries about the goings on at Downton, both upstairs and down, she said, more to her tea than to him, “I have a bit of news.”

He steadied himself. He had been about to reach for his tea, but stopped himself and looked at her, and waited patiently for her to look back.

When she did, he knew. Finally—the old boy had come round and asked her to marry him. Well, Thomas knew this day was coming, and he knew he must show her how happy he was for her. But he waited for her to say it first.

When she spoke, though, she didn’t say quite what he thought she would.

“Mr. Molesley—that is, Joseph—”

_Here it comes._

“Joseph has…” she faltered. How hard was it to just say the words? “He’s asked me… if it might be alright if he asked me to marry him. Soon.”

_What?_

He did his best not to smile. He could do this; he was a servant.

“Phyl,” he finally said, very calmly. “Are you telling me that Mr. Molesley has asked for your permission to propose to you?”

“No!” she said, incredulously, and swatted his hand, where it lay on the table. “No, of course not! He just…” She faltered again. He raised his eyebrows. “Well… maybe. I suppose that’s one way of … yes.”

She looked up at him then, with sheepish brown eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile. Before he could say anything though, she continued.

“He’s just nervous, Thomas. Don’t make fun of him. He wanted to know that he had the right idea first, before he went and asked. That’s all…”

He opened his mouth several times, then closed it again. There were so many possible things he could say. She looked up at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He knew enough now to know she was pleading for his approval.

Finally he said softly, “I don’t mean to make fun. It’s just… isn’t that the point of a proposal? He asks, and you say yes or no? Why does he have to ask if he can ask you?”

She only continued to look at him. Oh, God. Maybe she meant to say no.

“What… _are_ you going to say? When he does ask?”

“Well,” she began. Now she looked away. “I would… like to say… yes.”

He paused, and leaned toward her slightly. “Then… maybe you should say yes?”

He was sure she would smile at that. Relax, and resume sipping her tea. It was just his blessing she wanted, and he had given it. Hadn’t he?

She did not smile. She remained rather gaunt, and continued to look away, and whispered, “I’m not sure I can.”

_Good Lord. What was she hiding now?_

“Phyllis,” he said, his tone serious. “Why ever not? Is there some actual reason that you can’t marry him?”

“Not…” she began, but then rolled her eyes, taking his meaning. “I’m not hiding a secret husband, Thomas,” she said.

_Stranger things have happened._

“Well, then… why can’t you say yes to him? If you want to marry him. You _do_ want to marry him, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do!” she cried. “But…” Her breathing quickened. She looked all over the room, anywhere but at him. “You know, there are certain things that husbands and wives are expected to do, and—”

He stood abruptly from his chair, and almost sent it crashing to the floor. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation outside!” he said, more loudly than he meant to.

“I—why?” she asked, looking up at him.

He resisted the urge to say, “Because I need a cigarette very badly!” He took a breath and said instead, “Because I said I would show you the gardens. They really are lovely, and I want you to see them.” _And I think I’ll need miles and miles of space around me when you ask me how to have sex._

She looked at her lap, then ever so slowly, reached for his bad hand. She took it in hers, and looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Thomas,” she whispered. “I’m friendly with Mrs. Hughes and Anna, you know, but we’re not close.” A tear fell down her cheek and she continued. “You’re my oldest friend. And I don’t have anyone else I can talk to.”

He tightened his grip on her hand, ever so slightly.

“Please. Will you talk to me about this?” she asked.

He swallowed. “Of course,” he answered, and cleared his throat. “Of course I will. But let’s do go outside.”

She nodded then, and stood from her chair. He let her leave her hand in his, and they walked together out the back door.


	2. Chapter 2

He did show her the gardens. And they really were lovely. It was a fine, sunny day, unusual for this time of year, and when they’d first stepped outside, it seemed they didn’t need their coats. But after a brief tour up the walking paths, a breeze had begun to blow. He guided her to a bench, and they sat down together. He let her sit close to him, as much for warmth as for comfort. Lord knew she’d let him do the same a time or two in recent months.

She took a few breaths, seemingly trying to find a way to begin. He found himself grateful for their close proximity, as it meant he could support her without either of them having to look directly at the other. When she remained lost for words, he thought he might as well start. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and said, “Phyllis… have you ever…?”

“No,” she said softly.

_Oh, no…_

“Oh,” he answered, and turned away somewhat, trying not to appear too surprised.

“Thomas,” she hissed, sounding more insulted than he thought she would. “You know I’ve never been married.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. It was quickly becoming a habit. “Sorry, it’s just…” He stumbled over his words. “I just thought, with Coyle… that you’d…”

“Well, we didn’t,” she cut him off.

“I see,” he said.

He felt her lift her head slightly, though she still leaned into his shoulder. She was trying to look at him. “Thomas,” she began. “Did you think I was going to ask… did you think I wanted you to tell me… _how?_ ”

He cringed. “Well… for the last few minutes or so… yes. I mean, weren’t you? Going to ask how?”

She snorted. It was a sound that was all too familiar to him. “For God’s sake, Thomas, I’m 41 years old. I understand the mechanics of it.”

“Oh, thank God!” he cried. “I mean—” He collected himself. “Yes, of course. Of course you do.” He tried to appear calm and assured, but found that his breathing suddenly felt very heavy.

“You needn’t sound so relieved,” she said, and nudged him with her elbow.

“Right. Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that… If I sound relieved, it’s because… I am.”

“Fair enough,” she answered, a trace of nervous laughter in her voice. She became quiet then, and scuffed the toe of her shoe on the ground.

He swallowed, and chanced a look down at her. “So… if it wasn’t that… what is it you need to talk about?”

She sighed, and leaned into him just a little bit more. “I almost did. Once.”

“With Coyle?” he asked.

“With Coyle. It was just before… everything… fell apart.”

“And… what happened?”

He could hear the tightness in her voice. How difficult it was to admit. “We were almost found out,” she whispered.

“How?” he asked, his voice just as soft, but calm and even.

“We were in a garden shed. Late at night. We thought everyone had gone to bed, but one of the hall boys came out into the yard, looking for something.” She let out a gasping sob. “Can you imagine if we’d been seen? I’d’ve lost everything!”

“Jesus,” he said under his breath. He knew all too well the feeling of being caught by another member of staff in a compromising position like that. She must have been terrified. “What did you do?” he asked.

“What do you think?” she gasped. “I pulled my skirt back down and ran out of the shed and back into the house. Coyle waited half an hour before he came in, too. He told me later that the hall boy didn’t see him.” She paused. “He only saw me. Out in a garden shed in the middle of the night. Like some lunatic.”

She stopped talking, and he knew she was silently crying. He pulled her closer, and said softly, “You are not a lunatic. And you didn’t do anything wrong.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Yes, I did,” she whispered. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “And anyway, it doesn’t even matter. I didn’t even _do_ it, and I still lost everything,” she mumbled, miserable.

He was silent a moment. Then he had to ask. “Phyllis,” he began slowly. “Did you… _want_ to? That night, in the garden shed?”

She pulled back slightly then, so she could give him a confused look. She shook her head and answered, “I just thought… I was supposed to.”

He wished there was something he could say. All he could do was shake his head sadly. Then, without removing his arm from around her shoulders, he reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. He had planned to hand it to her, but instead he wiped away her tears, then lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, so he could look into her eyes. Before he could speak, though, she did.

“Thomas?” she asked, her tears falling down her cheeks again. “Do you think that’s why he left? The way he did? Without a word… because I didn’t…”

“What?!” he cried. “No!” She drew back slightly, and he tried to calm himself. He was angry, yes, but not with her. He did his best to keep his voice calm. “Coyle left you because he was a bad man, who was using you. And even if you had given him _everything_ he wanted, he would have left you anyway.”

It was a harsh truth, and it made her cry all the more. He pulled her fully into his arms and rubbed her back as she shuddered and wept. He hated for her to hurt like this. He hated the thought of her first time being in some grubby garden shed with that nasty, lying criminal. She deserved love, Phyllis did. Anything less just wasn’t good enough for her.

It was in that exact moment that he knew he would give his blessing to Phyllis and her Joseph—if she wanted it. For whatever Thomas thought about the timid footman turned educator, Joseph Molesley clearly loved Phyllis as much as she deserved. That was a very welcome thought, of course, but did she love him back, truly?

“Listen to me,” he said softly to her. “You don’t owe it to anyone. You don’t owe anyone a thing. And if you think that’s why you ought to marry Mr. Molesley, then—”

“No, that’s not—I mean, I don’t think it’s—” Her face crumpled, and she cried, unable to go on.

He sighed lightly. “What then?” he asked softly.

She drew a shaky breath. “What if,” she began, her voice a whisper. She cleared her throat. “What if… I can’t? Or—or, I do, but I’m… disappointing?”

He closed his eyes, and his mouth, lest he start screaming. He had wanted to kill Peter Coyle a few times before, but now he wanted to in the slowest, most painful way possible.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. “You are not a disappointment. To anyone, with half a brain, or half a heart. You are perfect. And I’m fairly sure Joseph Molesley knows that as well as I do.”

She looked away, but finally began to smile. “I don’t know about that,” she said quietly.

He took her chin her in his hand again, and made her look at him. He tried his best to appear self-righteous. “I have known Mr. Molesley far longer than you have, thank you very much. I can’t see the future, but I am quite certain that he would never leave you, if he was ever lucky enough to marry you.”

“But how can you be sure?” she asked, clearly not convinced.

“Because he loves you for _you_. Not for what he’s getting from you.”

She sat back ever so slightly. “Oh,” she said, nearly to herself. Thomas felt a part of his heart break for her then, knowing this thought hadn’t occurred to her before. Then he continued, “And anyway, if Molesley does hurt you, I’ll kill him.”

She laughed. “Alright. Just ask me first, won’t you?”

He shrugged. “I’ll do my best.” His eyes softened, and his tone became serious again. “Phyllis,” he said. “Coyle is gone, and he didn’t deserve you, not for a minute. So don’t let him decide what happens to you. You decide.”

“So you keep telling me,” she said. “I wonder if you’re right?” she asked with a wry smile.

“I am right,” he asserted, not for the first time. He brushed a lock of hair off of her cheek and smiled at her—his oldest and most trusted friend. “And it’ll be fine with Mr.—with Joseph,” he said, correcting himself. “He loves you. And you love him. Don’t worry about the rest. Alright?”

“Alright,” she said, nodding. She smiled at him through her tears, and he knew that she trusted him, too.


	3. Chapter 3

They went back inside after a bit, having nearly frozen their arses off. Thomas had somehow forgotten to have his cigarette, but the cake was still waiting.

Phyllis had to get back to the dressmaker’s to meet Lady Grantham, and ride back home, and Thomas could only get away from work for so long. So there wasn’t much time for further pleasant conversation. At this point, though, it seemed pleasantries were a bit beneath them.

Once she had had a bite or two, Phyllis asked timidly, “Thomas? Have you ever…?”

“What?” he asked, his voice calmer than he expected.

“With a woman?”

“Oh,” he answered. “No.”

She nodded. “I suppose I thought not.”

“Why?” he asked. “I mean—why did you think I hadn’t?”

She shrugged, and looked at her cake. “I suppose it just seems too dishonest. For you.”

He nodded, and spoke to his cake as well. “I suppose it would’ve been.”

Another bite for each of them.

“But you have… with—”

“Yes,” he cut off.

She nodded again. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I probably won’t,” he said.

“That’s alright.”

More clinking of forks on two nearly empty plates.

“Thomas?”

“Yes?”

A pause. “It’s alright with me. I mean—you’re alright. I should have said it, last year when you were ill, and you had all that trouble—from that treatment. But at the time I thought… I thought saying it meant saying that I wish your life to be difficult. And I don’t. What I mean is, I don’t fancy that you need my approval—I don’t even know if it matters to you, but you are alright with me. I don’t want you to change. I want you the way you are.”

He looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “Phyl, do you really know what that means? Do you really know what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” she said, the tremor in her voice nearly palpable. “You shouldn’t have to change. The world should change for you.”

He wished he could have continued to look at her, but found that he couldn’t. Truly no one had ever said anything of the like to him before. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. He reached for his tea, which had long since gone cold, and took a sip.

“It doesn’t matter what everyone thinks,” he said. “But it matters what you think. So thank you. For saying that.”

She shook her head slowly, and shrugged one shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s just the truth.”

“Alright, well, never mind then.”

She laughed, and he smiled. She set down her fork.

“I’d best be off,” she said. “Though I wish I could stay longer,” she added softly.

“I wish you could, too,” he answered. “Thank you for coming. Means the world to me, it does.”  
  
“Well,” she started as she stood carefully from her chair. When they were both standing, facing each other, she looked up at him. “If you’re still glad I’ve come after all that, then… Thank _you_ , Thomas. Thank you for listening.”

And she stood on her toes, and gave him a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting. I hope you've enjoyed this one!

**1 January, 1926**

When he’d finally climbed the stairs to the attic at nearly half past two that New Year’s morning, to his guest room that was really his room, it had been with warm, bright feelings for a hopeful future. He was returning to Downton, as butler no less. It was a dream he’d given up on, long ago, and now here it was before him. He laughed to himself as he climbed into his old bed. He curled up on his side and relished the thought that though he was finally home, he was still officially on holiday—he could close his eyes and sleep till he woke up naturally. An unprecedented luxury.

At least it would have been. But someone had the audacity to knock on his door _at six o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day,_ then had the further gall to walk into the room without waiting for an answer.

He opened his eyes as little as possible, and was sure he saw Phyllis Baxter leaning over him. She shook his shoulder.

“Thomas,” she whispered. “Thomas, wake up.”

Did the woman have some latent desire to be sacked? Why was she _always_ on the men’s side?

“This house had better be burning to the ground…” he grumbled.

She stood up straight. “Well, it’s not,” she replied plainly. “And I’m sure you’ll be glad of that in a few hours.”

“Hmph,” he grumped, doubtful.

“I do have something I need to tell you, though.”

He opened at least one eye fully, and looked up at her. “Well, it had better be good,” he said.

“It is,” she answered. “Now, move over. I’m freezing.”

He was about to point out to her that she was still dressed, and ask rhetorically if she had been to bed yet, but before he could speak, she shed her shoes, lifted his covers, and climbed into bed with him. She had really only surprised him a few times in his life—which was all the time he’d known her—but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of admitting that one of those times was now. 

So, all he said was, “Well? You said it was good.”

The grin she’d been stifling since barging into his room spread fully across her face now. She really was beautiful when she was happy.

“He asked me to marry him,” she said, and the color rose in her cheeks, making her look so very young.

He let a small laugh escape him. “You’ve just been proposed to by one man, and now you’re climbing into bed with another. You are a saucy thing, Miss Baxter.”

“I am not…” she said, but the smile on her face was a mischievous one.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright,” he said. “Extenuating circumstances… Now, tell me,” he said softly.

“It was last night. Or early this morning, I suppose. Everyone else had gone to bed. We stayed up in the servants’ hall drinking wine and talking… I was sitting in your rocker by the fire, and he got down on his knee and everything. Can you imagine?” she asked, blushing.

“I’m sure I can,” he answered. “Wait… we are talking about Mr. Molesley, aren’t we?”

She swatted his arm. “Thomas!” she hissed. “Yes, of course! Mr. Molesley. Mr. Molesley has proposed to me,” she said, incredulous.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “I just wanted to be sure we’ve got the right man. How am I to know how many suitors you’ve got?”

She gave him her best elder sister look. “Only one, thank you very much, and he’s all I need.”

The gravity of her words seemed to strike close to her heart then, and her smile faded. So did his. “He’s proposed to me,” she whispered, all seriousness.

“And did you answer him?” Thomas whispered back.

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve said yes.”

They looked at each other a moment, their heads resting on the same small pillow. Then he kissed her forehead.

“Congratulations, Filly,” he said softly. “That’s wonderful.”

She nodded again. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it is… and I believe congratulations are in order for you as well?”

He smirked. “Maybe,” he said, feigning modesty.

“Don’t be cheeky,” she said. “Butler of Downton Abbey. What would your mother say?”

His expression softened at the mention of his mother. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “What would she say?”

It was a little game they had played when he was young, and had resumed in the last year or so—she would ask him about his mother, and if his own memory came up short, she would fill in the gaps for him.

“She would tell you how terribly proud she was—of you, and all you’ve done. And then she would have told everyone she’d ever met that her only son was butler in a house as fine as this,” she said, with a smile not unlike a mother’s.

He smiled back at her, with shining eyes.

“Thomas?”

“Hmm?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I know it’s such a lot to ask…” She placed her hand on the side of his face, as she often did when he was in need of comforting. “Would you… give me away, at my wedding?”

He was silent a moment. Her tears began to fall now.

“You know if I have any family left in this world, it’s you,” she whispered. “It would mean ever so much to me. So… would you think about it?”

He shook his head slightly. “I don’t have to think about it,” he answered, surprised at the smile that must have been playing on his lips. “Of course I will. Only… do we have to call it giving you away? Makes it sound like you’re never coming back.”

She bit her lip ever so slightly. “No, I think you’re right about that. Would you… walk beside me? Down the aisle, when I marry Joseph?”

“I will,” he answered. “I’ll always walk beside you, if you want.”

Now she smiled, too. “Good,” she said. “Here’s to a very happy new year, indeed.”

 

 


End file.
